


Memories

by Creej



Category: White Collar
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: Peter is involved in an accident and wakes up in the hospital with no idea who his friends are...or even who he is.





	Memories

He opened his eyes to an annoying beep, squinting a little at the brightness of the overhead lights. Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings - pale green walls, the slight roughness of the sheets covering him to the chest, the heaviness of his right arm and right leg, the bandages around his head, the nasal cannula feeding him oxygen. His gaze slid to the side as someone - a woman - stirred in the chair beside the bed.

"Oh. You're awake," she said. "You had us worried."

"Us?"

"Me, Neal, even June and Moz."

He frowned slightly, sensing the names should be familiar, that he should have faces to put to them - but he didn't. He set it aside for the moment. "How long?"

"Almost a week," she said.

His eyes slid closed and he felt fingers card through his hair, wondering who this woman was and why she was there.

 

"How is he?" Neal asked softly as he stood next to Elizabeth, his eyes on the bed's occupant.

"He woke up for a little while," Elizabeth said. "Seemed a little confused."

"Not surprising," Neal said. He let out a breath. "Why don't you take a break? I'll call you if anything changes."

"I _could_ use a few hours in my own bed," Elizabeth said, stretching as she stood. "And food that hasn't been warming all day." She gave Neal a quick kiss on the cheek then, with a last look, left him to keep watch.

 

The next time he woke, there was someone different in the chair - a man this time - who bore a slight resemblance to the woman who'd been there before. Both had dark hair and blue eyes. Related? he wondered. Brother and sister maybe? Married perhaps.

"Awake I see," the man said as he straightened. "Feeling better?"

"What happened?"

"You and a rather large truck had an argument," was the answer. "You lost."

His brow furrowed as vague memories surfaced - squealing tires, the grill of a delivery truck as it bore down on him, the terrified shouts, hands grasping for him...too late. Then nothing until he woke up.

"Who...?"

"The driver lost control when the brakes started failing," the man said. "He was terrified he'd killed you." He paused, biting his lip pensively. "We all were."

That wasn't what he was asking but he didn't have the energy to formulate the entire question and he let himself slip back under.

 

As the days and weeks went by, he grew stronger but his memory remained stubbornly blank. His few visitors seemed to know him quite well but he still couldn't place them. There was the first man and woman who'd been there when he first woke up - they seemed to know him best - but there was also an older woman, dark skinned and with an air of elegance about her. Another dark skinned woman, younger, with a no nonsense attitude. And older man, grey haired and a bit reserved and last, a short, balding man with thick rimmed glasses and...shifty. That one rarely came all the way into the room, seeming content to stay in the doorway.

But what really confused him was how the first woman kept calling him 'Hon', as if that was his name. It wasn't, he knew. The nurses and the specialists he was seeing had told him his name was Peter, Peter Burke.

His lack of memory began to worry him. He knew he should know those who visited him - but he didn't. He'd brought it up a number of times to his doctor but he seemed unworried, telling him not to push to remember, that it would come back to him in good time. His first two visitors - who he'd been told were Elizabeth and Neal - didn't seem worried either. Evidently they'd been told the same thing.

Those two. He was beginning to get a feel for their relationship to each other and he thought brother and sister wasn't it...not from the way they touched - almost caressed - each other. Then one day, it clicked.

They were both visiting him and Neal had taken Elizabeth's hand, his thumb sweeping over her fingers, his expression unmistakable - at least to him. So, married. He wasn't surprised. It was obvious they belonged together now that he saw it.

"You should go home," he said. "I'm sure you have better things to do than sit there."

"I want to say with you," Elizabeth said.

"Why?"

"Because you're my husband."

"No, he's your husband," he said, gesturing at Neal. "I may not remember much but I know we're not married." He paused. "I don't even know you, not really."

"It'll come back," Elizabeth said. "Just be patient."

"It's been weeks," he said. "And I don't remember anything from before. Nothing." And he was beginning to doubt he ever would. He'd already discussed the possibility of long term memory loss with his doctor and was assured he'd get the help he needed if that was the case.

 

When he was finally discharged, she insisted on taking him home with her and was greeted by a large yellow dog - Labrador, he thought. He bent down to scratch behind its ears almost by reflex and was rewarded by a happy whine. Once the dog was satisfied with the attention, he stood and looked around, hoping something would spark his memory. But nothing did. Nothing was even vaguely familiar.

As he sat tentatively on the couch, the door opened to admit Neal. "Anything?" he asked and he shook his head. "It will."

He wasn't so sure. As he watched Neal and Elizabeth prepare dinner, he became more and more convinced that they were a couple, with that easy familiarity that came with a long term relationship. He listened as they told each other about their days, moving around each other effortlessly as they worked. He also didn't miss the fact that Neal seemed well acquainted with the house. It was obvious he'd spent a lot of time there. Why would he be if he and Elizabeth weren't married? There was also the easy banter and casual touches they traded.

During dinner, he let them do most of the talking, answering their questions as best he could and almost dreading the time they called it a day. Elizabeth had insisted he was her husband but he couldn't bring himself to share a bed with her - it didn't feel right. Even the idea felt wrong. In the end, she gave in, showing him to the guest room after handing him a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt and showing him where the bathroom was.

 

He woke to the sight of the now familiar guest room. He'd been sleeping there for the last two months despite Elizabeth's gentle insistence that he share a bed with her. He'd objected, not wanting to displace Neal from his rightful place. He'd observed how they interacted with each other, saw their obvious affection for each other and refused to come between them.

A memory teased him as he lay there in the early morning light - an office with windows for walls, looking out over a dozen or more desks further down. He sat up, reaching for the bag they'd given him at discharge and emptied its contents on the bed - a wallet with some cash, various credit cards and drivers license in his name, various odds and ends...and a slim leather folder. He opened it with a gesture so smooth he knew he'd done it dozens, even hundreds of times. A glint of gold. A badge. But not a police officer's badge. A badge that was given to Federal agents. FBI.

Another memory. One of endless numbers in folders. Numbers that somehow didn't quite add up to what they should.

Another memory. Watching as a severe looking man descended the stairs from the glass walled office as he leaned against a pillar, Neal at his side.

Another. Untying a woman bound to a chair then that same woman pointing a gun at him as he held a stack of bills in each hand. Again, Neal was there. A spray of purple as Neal brought his bundles sharply together.

And another. Elizabeth giving him a quick kiss on the lips then Neal easing through the door of the kitchen, careful to stay out of view of the windows.

Then Elizabeth, blindfolded, as he led her out onto a spacious terrace. Ahead of them, lights were strung along the balustrade, deck chairs shaded by umbrellas even though it was nighttime, the warmth of a brazier taking the chill away.

He was brought back to his surroundings by footsteps in the hall. Elizabeth was up. Voices then, from downstairs. Neal. He crept to the top of the stairs and listened as they talked...about him.

"Still sleeping in the guest room?"

"He insists," Elizabeth said. "He said he doesn't want to take your place. He still believes the two of us are married."

"I'm not wearing a wedding ring," Neal said.

"Neither is he. His was lost, remember?"

There was a heavy sigh. "I'm just wondering where he got the idea _we're_ married," Neal said.

"I've seen him watching us," Elizabeth said. "And I can almost hear him thinking. We _are_ rather...affectionate...more than being just friends would account for maybe."

"He never minded before..."

"That was before he lost his memory," Elizabeth said. "He knew we were just friends. He knew I loved him."

His brows furrowed at her words. She'd spoken in the past tense - knew...loved. Did she not feel that way anymore? Did she love Neal now? She must if they were married. He wondered how long they had been. A year? Two? More? They must have gotten married some time after that night on the terrace but before his accident, the one that had wiped his memory. What memories he had he couldn't place on any timeline - was the occasion on the terrace before or after the woman had pointed a gun at him? His eyes widened a little - the image of a plane exploding rising up in his mind, a wave of grief and anguish, almost palpable, coming from the man he held in his arms, struggling with him to keep him from running headlong into the flames to find...who?

"Would you go see if he's awake?" Elizabeth asked. "And tell him breakfast is ready."

"You need me to stay with him today?"

He didn't hear the answer as he returned to his room to get dressed. He was pulling on a T-shirt when there was a tap on the door. "You decent?"

"Come in," he answered as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on some socks.

"Elizabeth wanted me to tell you breakfast is ready," Neal said.

"I'll be right down," he said. He looked at Neal quizzically as the other man leaned against the doorframe. "What?"

"Have you remembered anything?" Neal asked.

He debated with himself a few moments. He did, he was sure but he wasn't sure what to tell him. Finally, he settled on, "I think so. A plane...on fire. An explosion. You were there." He saw a shadow cross Neal's face. "That happened?"

"Yeah," Neal said softly. "About a year after we started working together. My girlfriend was killed."

"We...worked together?" Where?"

"The white collar division of the FBI," Neal said.

"You're an agent?"

"A consultant," Neal said. "I was a conman, spent four years in prison for forgery. You got me out on a work release to help you catch another forger." Neal smiled a little. "We made a good team," he said. "The best."

"I wish I remembered," he said. "Are you still with the FBI?"

"They kept me on after I completed my sentence," Neal said. "I still work with you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"So we're friends?"

"We've had our ups and downs," Neal said. "But yeah, I'd like to think we are."

"Boys! Breakfast!"

Neal smiled. "We'd better get down there before she drags us to the table," he said, straightening.

 

Neal stayed with him that day, telling him Hughes - their boss - had put him on paid leave until he could return to work.

"He thinks I'll be able to?" he asked. "I don't know what the work involves."

In response, Neal set a stack of files on the coffee table, nodding at him to take a look. Curious, he did so. "The division deals with financial crimes. We go after anyone who's trying to make a dishonest dollar - embezzlement, fraud, scams, things of that nature. Occasionally, we deal with forgery - either art or bonds,"

"And I was good at that?"

"You were very good," Neal said.

 

When Elizabeth returned that evening, she found him absorbed in a case and looked a question at Neal.

"He's been like that most of the day," Neal said as he poured them each a glass of wine. He regarded the other man for a moment, seeing the smile that touched his lips, recognizing the expression he wore - it was the one he had when he was on the verge of unraveling a case.

"How many?"

"Three today,' Neal said. "He may not remember us, remember the office or the team but he remembers the work. And he's still good at it."

"So he could go back," Elizabeth said.

"Probably not any time soon," Neal said. "He'd have to recertify since he's been out so long but I'll let Hughes know there's been progress. The division hasn't lost him completely."

 

To the surprise of both Elizabeth and Neal, he didn't bury himself in the work and lose track of time like he used to before the accident, setting the files aside when dinner was ready and after, perused the bookshelf before heading upstairs to his room.

"You can stay down here with us," Elizabeth said.

"I don't want to intrude," he said. "You should have some time to yourselves."

Elizabeth started to object but his expression stopped her and she nodded. "All right," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."

She dropped onto the couch with a sigh, leaning against Neal when he sat beside her. "I want my husband back," she half whispered.

"You'll get him back," Neal said. "I know you will." He put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. "You want me to stay tonight?" he asked. "I can take the couch."

"You've spent so much time here over the past few months, I should get a cot for you," Elizabeth said.

"Where would you put it?' Neal asked. "Air mattress? I could sleep on the floor."

"We have those sleeping bags," Elizabeth said. "Haven't used them since that judge tried to bribe him."

Neal smiled. "Did he ever thank you after that case?" he asked.

"Yeah, he did," Elizabeth said with an answering smile. "It was wonderful." She sobered. "You won't mind?"

"Not at all," Neal said. "Never camped out before. Kind of curious."

 

That night, he dreamed. Dreamed of Neal stepping out of a gate, dressed far differently than he'd seen him dress before, in dark slacks, white T-shirt and a dark coat, hair a bit longer than it was now. Lifting a pant leg to show something affixed around his left ankle. Later, entering what could only be described as a fleabag hotel, Neal protesting quietly but he'd left him there anyway.

Later, standing in front of a large house - a mansion. Neal coming down a flight of stairs, dressed in a tailored suit, flipping a hat onto his head with a wide grin.

Coming down the stairs at home, in a rush, to find Neal sitting with Elizabeth, a sheet of paper with an intricate drawing spread on the coffee table, Neal holding a small mirror and magnifier.

He opened his eyes to the predawn light, the house quiet around him and the memories, names and faces kept coming - as if the dam holding his memories had burst, flooding him with sights and sounds.

Neal, falling from a fourth floor window to land on an awning. He and Elizabeth exchanging vows on the terrace. Him dancing a tango with another woman - a dangerous woman. Neal getting shot but saved by an old Bible. A music box. An old submarine. Being terrified when Elizabeth was taken. Him, locked in a cell as someone aimed a gun at him. Softer, more pleasant memories as well. He and Elizabeth curled up on the couch, him with a case file, her with a glass of wine. Walks in the park with Satchmo tugging at the leash. Relaxing on the back patio with Neal and a couple of beers as Elizabeth puttered around in the kitchen.

And the people. Moz, the shifty, borderline paranoiac, Neal's oldest friend and mentor. Diana, his one time probie. Hughes, his boss. June, Neal's elegant landlady. Other, more minor characters that had come and gone. Julianna, young owner of a painting they'd recovered. Renee, the woman who'd held a gun on both of them, her face stained with purple dye. Walker, a bank robber they'd outsmarted and arrested. Keller, a blue collar version of Neal and much more dangerous. Adler, financial wizard who'd disappeared with a billion dollars of other people's money. Kate, the love of Neal's life, the one he'd escaped prison to find, killed when the plane exploded on the tarmac, ending Neal's dream of a life with her.

He wasn't sure how these pieces fit together or in what order but he was relieved to have them after months of having nothing. And he now understood the nature of the relationship between Neal and Elizabeth. Not husband and wife. Not brother and sister. Just very close friends - a friendship built on a foundation of shared interests and affection. His relationship with Elizabeth was that of husband and best friend, their marriage surviving long hours on the job by each of them through love, understanding and honesty. Him and Neal...that was more complicated - at times as close as brothers, other times a father/son dynamic and still others, cop and criminal. Rocky, convoluted, sometimes nonsensical and improbable seemed to sum it up. But he couldn't deny that, outside Elizabeth, Neal was his best friend despite their history. His partner.

 

When he went downstairs, he found Neal leaning back against the kitchen counter, mug of coffee in hand as Elizabeth made breakfast. She was more dressed up than usual but he understood what that meant - she had an event to supervise.

"You'll be late today?' he asked as she handed him a mug.

"Not too late, I hope," she said. "Should get home at a decent hour. You need Neal to stay with you?"

"I'd like him to," he said. "I have a lot of questions I think he can answer."

Elizabeth froze for a moment, her expression one of cautious hope. "You're remembering?"

"I think so," he said. "Pretty sure."

"About...us?"

"You and me, Neal and me..." he said. "The three of us."

"We're just friends," Neal said, sounding faintly amused.

"I'm pretty sure I know that," he said with a touch of amusement. He sobered. "It's mostly the order of what I remember. It's all jumbled."

"Anything after you got me out of prison I can probably help you with," Neal said. "Before that..." He shrugged.

"Any help you can give me," he said.

 

He and Neal talked the entire day. He'd offer up a memory and Neal would put it order and context, giving background when he could. But more than that, Neal told him stories that helped him make sense of what he remembered. These stories would prompt other memories and soon, a lot of the gaps had been filled in. Some remained since Neal didn't, couldn't know but Elizabeth probably would. If not, there were others he could ask.

One of the most satisfying memories he recovered was the significance of Elizabeth's endearment, the significance of 'Hon' - their shorthand for 'I love you'.

 

When Elizabeth returned that evening, she found Neal and Peter laughing at how ridiculous Peter had looked in a mustache and Neal calling him Mario.

"I swear I thought all those had been destroyed," Peter said. "Where'd Diana find it?"

"She refused to tell me," Neal said. "But I knew if I pushed, she might break something I really need. You know, just to get me to back off."

"She'd tell me," Peter said. "I'm her boss."

"I wouldn't count on it," Neal said with a grin.

"Hon?" Elizabeth asked, sounding tentative.

Peter's gaze went to her, his grin softening into a smile as he went to her and cupped her face. "Hi, hon," he said softly.

Tears stung Elizabeth's eyes as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. "You're back," she whispered.

"Not entirely but mostly," he said. He bent his head to whisper in her ear. "And I think it's time I took my place next to you...in _our_ bed."

"Sounds...wonderful."

"I think that's my cue," Neal said as he rose. "You two have a lot to catch up on."

"Stay," Peter said. "Please."

"You're sure?"

"Please Neal," Elizabeth said.

Neal acquiesced despite his uncertainty. He'd enjoyed reminiscing with Peter - it reminded him of that all night talk at his apartment, the night Peter had given him immunity as he'd told the story of him and Kate, him and Mozzie, Adler and the long con they'd tried to pull. He couldn't help but be glad he'd helped the other man remember, despite the sometimes painful memories. He'd known he'd do almost anything for his partner when he'd insisted Peter take the precious oxygen in that airtight vault. Having his friend back - not quite whole yet - was worth it.

 

He sat as his desk, looking out over a familiar view - Neal, Diana, Jones, Blake at their desks while probies and interns went about their tasks.

It had taken weeks to get to the point where he could resume his duties. He'd had to return to Quantico to recertify but the memories had come easily. He hadn't lost anything. There were still gaps in his memory but he wasn't concerned - they were minor, almost insignificant. He remembered what was important - Elizabeth, Neal, his team, even Mozzie and June. And the stories that went with them.

As the weeks passed, something would spark and another small hole in his recall would be filled, the pieces shifting until the narrative of his memory was a little bit smoother, with fewer knots and tangles.

"I hear we have a good one," Neal said, dropping into his accustomed chair across the desk from him.

"We do," he said. "Robbery at MoMA." He paused, a smile touching his mouth. "And a possible forgery," he added. The smile grew when Neal's eyes lit up.

"Wasn't me," Neal said. "I've been busy filling in the holes of your Swiss cheesed memory."

"Just keep in mind, I remember most of your tricks," he said.

"Most of them?" Neal asked interestedly. "Which ones are you missing?"

"You're a smart guy, you figure it out," he said, eyes alight with mischief.

"Challenge accepted," Neal said.

"I'll remember the rest...eventually."

Neal sobered but a small smile remained. "I hope you do," he said softly.


End file.
